DING-DONG!
<Entering the second section of the Physiological Needs Floor!>
From the crown of my head to my face, neck, shoulders, arms, stomach, flanks, legs, and even my toes.
An overwhelming pressure squeezed me, as if crushed inside a gigantic fist.
It felt like being forcibly shoved through a narrow pipe.
Sight, smell, hearing, touch, taste.
All five senses were completely paralyzed by the mana storm.
Finally.
THUD!
My body was hurled onto hard ground.
The impact gradually revived my deadened senses.
Touch returned first.
A stinging pain crawled across my back and buttocks.
When I groped the floor, ice-cold tiles met my palms.
Next came smell; a foul stench stabbed my nose.
The metallic tang of blood, the reek of rotten eggs, the stench of charred meat, and the faint scent of disinfectant.
Then hearing returned.
SCRATCH—SCRAAATCH—GRIIIND!
The regular sound of something sharp scraping against something hard echoed.
At last, my blurred vision cleared.
I quickly scanned my surroundings.
The ceiling, walls, and floor were entirely covered in black tiles.
Yellowish grease stains clung between the tiles, and blood flowed like rivers into the drains scattered across the floor.
Then I noticed the tools mounted on the wall racks.
Butcher knives of various sizes, huge saws, and rod-shaped whetstones.
Tools you would see in a butcher shop or slaughterhouse.
At that moment, a sound came from the ceiling.
CREAK—CREEEAK—CREAK—
Looking up, orc, goblin, and ogre corpses hung swaying from hooks lowered from the ceiling.
Then a voice came from beside me.
“W-what the…? Where are we now?”
A stranger stood where the voice came from.
More than a dozen men and women slowly rose throughout the slaughterhouse.
Every single face was unfamiliar.
…None of the people from the breathing section are here. We’re randomly scattered each time.
Then.
FLASH!
A blinding beam of light poured down from the ceiling.
Beneath the light stood a figure in chef’s whites… no, a skeleton wearing chef’s whites.
A dry, emotionless voice rang out.
[I am Heter. Direct chef to Lord Maslow and manager of the Appetite Section.]
The skeletal chef gave off a completely different aura from the previous section’s manager.
It stood before a prep table, repeatedly slamming down a cleaver the size of a pot lid.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
A foul stench wafted from the unidentified blue meat on the table.
[Every dish served in Maslow’s Tower—from menu planning to sourcing ingredients and consumables, from trimming to cooking—is completed by my hands alone.]
The skeletal chef brought the cleaver down hard.
THUNK~! Spluuuurt—
Orange blood gushed from the chunk of meat, spilling across the tiled floor.
Crimson liquid slowly spread along the grid lines of the tiles.
[What is food? Anything edible can be called food. Lowly worms and higher beings alike consume food equally. But cuisine is different.]
The skeletal chef continued without lifting its eyes from the table.
[Cuisine is the measure that separates higher beings from lowly worms. It is not merely the act of eating; it is the act of stimulating all five senses to deliver the ultimate experience… Yes. Cuisine is art.]
SHHHNK!
The cleaver sliced down, splitting the massive chunk of meat cleanly in half.
Intestines slopped out, dragging something egg-shaped with them.
The skeletal chef scooped them into a bucket and spoke.
[You have been served that cuisine. My dishes, far too precious to be fed to mere humans. Yet there is a problem. Because I used ingredients to stuff your stomachs, I now lack materials to present to Lord Maslow.]
It stared straight at us as it continued.
[Eat as much as you work. If you provide ingredients capable of satisfying Lord Maslow’s appetite… I will allow you to pass this Appetite Section.]
A man who appeared to be a hunter stepped forward.
“If you need ingredients, what exactly do you mean? Are you telling us to hunt monsters?”
[There is neither need nor time for that. Lord Maslow is the most refined and noble gourmet among gourmets. The high-quality ingredients that would satisfy Him… you already possess in abundance.]
The skeletal chef’s long, bony finger began pointing at us.
[Human flesh. Offer the flesh of one human.]
“……!”
“……!”
“……!”
“……!”
The atmosphere inside the slaughterhouse froze solid.
The skeleton paid it no mind.
[The flesh of man carries a subtle umami and a fragrance reminiscent of rosemary mingled with mint. Male meat is firm and pleasantly spicy, while female meat is tender and rich in fat, allowing for many cooking methods. Truly excellent ingredients.]
The skeletal chef continued.
[One person’s worth is sufficient. Place the ingredient into the pit in the center of the slaughterhouse. Do not even think of playing tricks. Anyone who toys with food will pay tenfold. I give you one hour from now.]
As if it had nothing more to say, the skeletal chef resumed chopping meat.
Where it pointed lay a pit dozens of meters deep.
Sixteen people had gathered in the Appetite Section.
Yet the skeletal chef wanted only “one person’s worth” of meat.
Soon people began speaking one by one.
“W-what do we do? Are we really going to do what that thing says?”
“Didn’t you see what happened in the last room? Those things are insanely strong.”
“…Since it’s come to this, how about we decide by majority vote?”
“Majority vote? You mean we pick a sacrifice?”
“Then what else can we do! Do you want us all to die? Who knows what that monster will do in an hour!”
Fear began to fill people’s eyes.
Like the breathing section, most of the people gathered here were civilians dragged into the dungeon break.
They had surely witnessed what happens when someone defies a manager.
Then a neatly dressed man in a suit spoke.
“If just one of us sacrifices ourselves, the rest can live. Let’s think rationally. Let’s democratically choose the sacrifice.”
“…”
“…”
No one opposed the idea of selecting a scapegoat.
A middle-aged man continued in a trembling voice.
“T-then I’ll take that as unanimous agreement. Let’s begin discussion on choosing the sacrifice. Please speak freely if you have opinions.”
Immediately, opinions poured out like a flood.
“The oldest person should sacrifice themselves.”
“What? What kind of nonsense is that? I’m the head of a family!”
“I also oppose deciding by age. Instead, let’s choose someone with the fewest dependents.”
“What kind of bullshit is that? So single people should go die!?”
“Everyone state your occupation. The person most valuable to society after we get out should survive!”
“Bullshit! Who decides what’s valuable or not? Are you saying day laborers deserve to die?”
The longer the discussion went on, the more murderous the atmosphere became.
Then a clean-cut young man stepped forward.
“I am a hunter affiliated with the Association. Inside dungeons, when human casualties occur under ‘unavoidable’ circumstances, punishment for illegal acts is suspended. Eliminating danger takes highest priority. If everyone gives consistent testimony, the courts won’t punish severely either.”
No one argued back.
Because the hunter was openly stroking the sword at his waist.
“In special situations like this, the way for the greatest number to survive is for one person to sacrifice themselves. Anyone who opposes that… could be considered the greatest danger at this moment, no?”
“…”
People lowered their heads, avoiding the hunter’s gaze.
The hunter smiled brightly.
“We don’t have time to fight among ourselves. Let’s resolve this through constructive dialogue.”
“Y-yeah! Instead of this, let’s decide by vote like civilized people!”
“Yes, good! Democratically, that’s the way!”
“Definitely… if it’s majority rule…”
People who had been watching the mood began nodding one by one.
Soon the hunter took business cards from his inner pocket and distributed them.
“Write the name of the person you nominate as sacrifice on the back. Since we don’t know names… write a distinguishing feature instead. Submit them to me when you’re done.”
Voting is normally a process to reach ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on a specific proposal.
But openly stating one’s opinion on such a sensitive topic is extremely burdensome.
Thus they chose the method that minimized guilt the most—hiding behind the shield of anonymity.
The moment the hunter finished speaking, people began writing on the ballots.
…All except one person.
Step—step—step—
While everyone was absorbed in voting, I walked toward the skeletal chef.
The skeletal chef was finely mincing a large purple chunk of meat.
THUNK—! THUNK~! THUNK—!
I spoke to it.
“I have a question. May I ask?”
[…Do as you wish.]
“You said to prepare one person’s worth of meat, right? Is there any weight limit?”
[One person’s portion is enough. Forty kilograms. That will suffice.]
“Another question. How far does your definition of ‘meat’ extend? Are you talking only lean meat, or do organs count too?”
[Anything that comes from a human body can be used as ingredient. Anything is fine.]
“Calluses, dead skin, hair?”
[Doesn’t matter.]
“Saliva or dandruff?”
[…]
The skeletal chef looked at me and answered.
[Those are certainly unusual ingredients. I could create something quite unique. Lord Maslow would be pleased as well.]
…So anything goes.
Extreme fulfillment, Maslow.
It is time to procure ingredients for the malevolent gourmet.